


Just a Cold

by ItalianHobbit



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Family, Family Fluff, Fluff, Gen, Humor, Motherly love, Sick Fíli, Stubborn Dwarves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-13
Updated: 2015-04-13
Packaged: 2018-03-22 16:32:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3735874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ItalianHobbit/pseuds/ItalianHobbit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It will take more than a cold to stop me."</p><p>Fíli is sick and too stubborn to do anything about it. Kíli, Thorin, and Dís combine forces to help him get better. Fluffy oneshot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just a Cold

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is from a prompt from tumblr user Ainariel37. It said, "Fíli with a cold, Kíli being an annoying little brother and Dís just being the awesome mother she is." We discussed this and both fangirled about it and here it is.

Fíli looked dreadful. Anyone could have seen it. There were deep circles under his eyes, and his nose was a pink blotch in the middle of a pale face. But when Kíli asked his brother if he was all right, Fíli had waved him off.

“It will take more than a cold to stop me,” Fíli had said with a wry smile. “We have too much to do today. Let’s get started.”

He had done well for the better part of the morning in the forge, though he sniffed constantly and moved slower than usual. Around lunchtime, though, Kíli began to feel concerned. Fíli was not just sniffing now; his face was grey, and he was visibly shaking. When Kíli witnessed a chill go through his brother, he set down the knife he was working on and strode over.

“Fíli, are you sure you’re all right?” he said, sitting on the table and crossing his arms.

Fíli sniffed and nodded, blinking slowly.

“Just a cold,” he muttered. “Get off my table.”

“Fíli, you’re shaking, and you’ve been cleaning the same spot on that dagger for the past twenty minutes.”

“Mind your own business,” Fíli said, a flush creeping over his pale cheeks. He set down his dagger and rested his palms on the table, bowing his head. Kíli watched him breathe slowly through his mouth as a faint whistle sounded from his nose, and he frowned; he looked out at the forge floor, searching for Thorin.

“Hey, Uncle!” he called out, spotting him. “Could you come here for a minute?”

“Kíli, what are you _doing_?” Fíli snapped, shooting a glare up at his brother. “I’m _fine_.”

“Sure you are,” Kíli said dismissively, watching their uncle approach. He smiled brilliantly as Thorin gave him a questioning look. “Hello, Uncle. How do you think Fíli looks today?”

“How Fíli looks?” Thorin said, furrowing his brow. He turned to look at his elder nephew, and his eyes widened. “Blimey, lad, you’re pale as a ghost.”

Fíli shifted uncomfortably under Thorin’s gaze, sniffing again. “S’just a cold,” he mumbled. “I’m fine.”

“He had a chill earlier,” Kíli said to Thorin, ignoring Fíli’s icy glare. “I saw it.”

As if on cue, Fíli shivered, and both Kíli and Thorin stared at him. Fíli shrank under their gazes, pink creeping into his white face yet again.

“I’m just cold,” he lied lamely.

Kíli could not help but laugh. “We’re in the _forge_ , idiot.”

“I can’t take a day off,” Fíli said, his voice pleading as he looked up at his uncle with sunken eyes. “Market day is this weekend—I’m not done with these daggers—”

“Fíli,” Thorin cut in. He rested a hand on Fíli’s shoulder and smiled warmly. “There will be other market days. Go home and rest, lad.”

“But—”

“Go _home_. That is an order.”

Fíli’s shoulders slumped, and he nodded forlornly, not bothering to give a verbal response. He pushed away from his table and began to walk, only to pitch forward; Kíli scrambled to hold him upright.

“Oh yes, you’re _fine_ ,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Uncle, I’m going to escort him back.”

“It seems that that would be best,” Thorin replied. He pressed his palm against Fíli’s forehead, and Fíli jerked his head away miserably. “Tell your mother that he has a fever.”

“It’s just hot in here,” Fíli grumbled as Kili dragged him away.

“I thought you were cold,” Kíli quipped.

Fíli only glared in return.

* * *

Dís had finally sat down to relax in the parlor when Fíli and Kíli appeared in the doorway; with one glance at her eldest, she was on her feet again and striding towards him.

“Oh, darling, you look terrible,” she exclaimed, taking his hands and pulling him to the couch. “You need to sit down right now.”

“I need to finish my daggers,” Fíli muttered, stumbling after his mother. He plopped down unceremoniously and shivered; Dís looked to Kíli with a questioning gaze. Kíli shrugged.

“He was determined to go to the forge this morning,” he said. “Says he just has a cold.”

“It _is_ just a cold,” Fíli said, looking at his mother with mournful, shadowed eyes. “Uncle made me come home. Market day is in _three days_ …”

“There will be other market days, my love,” Dís said gently. She carded her fingers through his hair with one hand and felt his forehead with the other. Definitely a fever. This was more than a plain old cold… her poor boy.

“That’s what Uncle said, too,” Fíli groused. He shivered again. Dís pulled the big blanket off the back of the couch and wrapped it around him, and he did not protest; instead, he pulled it tighter around himself, sniffing. She tucked the blanket around his chin.

“I’m going back to the forge now,” said Kíli, backing out of the parlor. “I only came to deliver Fíli to you.”

“Oi, I’m not a parcel,” Fíli grumbled.

Kíli grinned. “Never said you were,” he said. With that, he took a little hop and dashed off, leaving Fíli and Dís alone.

She turned to face her eldest son and raised one eyebrow, and he had the good sense to look sheepish, ducking his head deeper into his blanket cocoon.

“Daggers and market day,” she said. “Is that worth your health?”

“I’m fine,” Fíli protested. “It’s just—”

“It’s not a cold, you numpty,” Dís said. “Now hush and lie down there while I get you some soup. Would you like tea?”

Fíli nodded, his blue eyes soulful and his frown so deep it was almost comical. Dís had to turn away before she laughed. She left him for the kitchen and put a kettle on for tea; while she waited for the water to boil, she pulled out the sugar and scooped several spoonfuls into a mug. If there was one thing that could cheer Fíli up, it was plenty of sugar.

Suddenly she heard the sound of shuffling behind her, and she sighed.

“Back to the couch,” she said without turning around.

The shuffling faded back into the parlor, and Dís smiled to herself. As if she needed help making tea and soup. Her son may have been in his thirties, but he had never lost the stubbornness of a five-year-old. Of course, that was a family trait. Sometimes she thought the only thing that had changed in Thorin was how low his voice was. Frerin had been much the same way.

She started preparing the soup until the kettle boiled and then made Fíli’s tea, adding some helpful herbs to the mix. She tasted it to make sure it was sweet enough; satisfied, she carried it into the parlor. Fíli’s boots were on the floor, and all that was visible under the blanket was some blond hair and one sock.

“I have your tea, love,” she said softly, setting it down on the side table and pulling the blanket away from her son’s face. He blinked wearily and then pushed himself up, grimacing and pressing a hand to his head.

“There’s plenty of sugar in it,” she said, pulling the blanket back over Fíli’s shoulder. “Drink up while I make soup.”

“Yes’m,” Fíli replied quietly. His hands poked out from under the blanket, and Dís handed him the tea; he took a sip and smiled. She smiled back and kissed his hot forehead.

“If you want to sleep, put the tea on the table first,” she said. “Don’t spill it everywhere.”

Fíli did not reply; he was too busy drinking his tea. After stroking his hair one final time, she went back to the kitchen to finish preparing some soup.

It did not take long to get everything into the pot, but it would take a while before it was cooked. That was all right—the tea had some herbs to help Fíli fall asleep, and when he awoke, the soup would be ready. She had planned it that way. The only way to get Fíli to stay still when he was sick, after all, was to drug him to sleep until he gave up trying to move around. Somehow, after thirty-two years, he still did not suspect a thing. Perhaps the illness addled his reasoning.

Finished, Dís made her way back to the parlor to check on her boy. The mug was on the side table, and Fíli was sprawled out on the couch, one leg under the covers and the other out, his mouth hanging open; he was fast asleep. Even from the other side of the room, Dís could hear his congested breathing. She crossed the room and adjusted the blanket, and then she sat on the couch beside him, brushing loose hair away from his face.

“Sleep well, my darling,” she said softly. Then she leaned down planted a kiss on his cheek.


End file.
